Hunt
by FanfictionWriter83729
Summary: MovieAU. The Decepticons, predators and the Autobots, guardians, race for the Allspark. Unfortunately for all involved, their fates are intertwined with a certain Witwicky's who won't stand being prey but won't stick around to be protected. The hunt's on.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **Me no own following franchises and/or affiliates: Transformers 2007 Movie, Blood and Chocolate, Rise: Vampire Hunter, Vampires the Masquerade: Bloodlines and any works by Amelia Awater-Rhodes.

**Summary:** (Movieverse AU). In the search for the Allspark, the Decepticons are predators and the Autobots are guardians. Unfortunately for all parties involved, their fates are intertwined with a certain Witwicky who won't stand being prey but won't stick around long enough to be protected. The hunt is on…Inspired by an LJ challenge.

**Author Note (A.k.a. explanation/apology for this fic…): **Steps to how this came to be: 1) Went on LJ and browsed through the challenges. 2) Watched Blood and Chocolate. 3) Watched Transformers 2007 movie. 4) Watched Rise: Vampire Hunter. 5) Read books by Amelia Atwater Rhodes. 6) Played Vampires the Masquerade: Bloodlines. 7) Everything went into a blender.

**Warning**: First fic in this fandom. Constructive criticism, as always, is welcomed and appreciated.

* * *

Hunt

**1: Spike Witwicky**

It had been years. Decades, even. He didn't remember exactly how many. That vaguely disturbed him, the fact that he couldn't really remember how many. The days and months and years seemed to blend together, an assortment of watery colours running down the canvas of time, running into each other to produce a deep brown colour, the colour of dried blood. Yes, it did disturb him, but anger would always be at the heels of worry, and anger always drove worry away.

If he couldn't remember how long ago, at least he still remembered how it used to be: his not-as-stern-as-he-looks father tricking him at least once a day, his eccentric-but-well-meaning mother making an awkward situation even more awkward, both sets of parents obsessed with the lawn. The flowers had always been beautiful in the spring and summer, the leaves arranged just so in the fall, and the snow a uniform white in the winter.

Then he remembered snow. Then fire. Fire and silver.

He remembered being hunted.

Forcibly, he wrenched himself from those memories. School would be done in five minutes; five more minutes of listening to the idiotic projects. He grimaced inwardly as the family genealogy reports wore on. He didn't have one done. His family history, even the parts of it that the Camarilla didn't fabricate, made it so that he didn't have to do one.

That was at least one good thing that had happened recently. The other was that the Camarilla finally decided that it was alright for him to turn seventeen years of age.

Spike sighed. At least it was one year closer from disappearing from the foster system for good.

The bell finally rung. As he got up from his seat, he heard some students behind him grumble why "Wit-icky" didn't have to do genealogy report. His shoulders tensed. He wanted to shout at them, _At least you __**have**__ family history! Mine's all in ash! Is that what you want?!_

Before they could all leave, the teacher shouted over the hustle and bustle of the students, "Remember people! There may be a pop quiz tomorrow! And Mr. Witwicky, could you stay behind for a few minutes? There's something I would like to speak to you about."

He wilted. The rest of the students left, and he moved towards the teacher's desk, almost tripping over his own bag as he did so.

Some of his kind claimed that all the human awkwardness left them upon Embrace. Not so for him.

"Now Spike," the teacher used his first name in what was supposed to be a soothing tone, but came out patronizing. "In lieu of your circumstances, you have been excused from doing this report. Now, by your ten-minute long request—"(and here the teacher winced, remembering Spike's long rant about why the rest of the class shouldn't be told of his situation)—"your classmates haven't been made aware of those circumstances, and so it's perfectly understandable why they think that you're being excused isn't fair. Now, in turn, it wouldn't be fair for you to blow up at them for something they don't know about. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes sir," Spike said. A small part of his mind was seething at the irony. _'Sir?' This guy's younger than I am!_

The teacher dismissed him, and Spike was finally free. He was surprised to see a sleek silver car, with its top down, waiting for him outside. The owner of said car leaned against the door, and waved. Spike relaxed when he realized who it was.

"Hey Miles," he greeted, nearing to his best bud of at least twenty years.

"Hey Sa-Spike," Miles said. Spike caught the near slip, but didn't remark on it. Miles had been awfully good to him, before and after the Embrace. It wouldn't be right to get touchy. "You really ought to get a car you know. What happens the next time you miss the bus and I ain't here to save your ass?"

Miles ushered his friend into the passenger seat. To any onlooker, the scene would appear normal: a normal father picking up his normal teenager. The car pulled out of the school's driveway.

Spike shrugged. "Then I'll take a run. It's only a few minutes from here."

Miles rolled his eyes. "Sure, if you pull that trick and upset Gabriel _and_ the Camarilla both in one night."

Spike snorted. "Come on Miles. Ordinary humans wouldn't even know an alien if it danced in front of them all hyped up on caffeine."

There was silence. Spike was somewhat surprised by that. Back in the time when they were both physically the same age, back when they were seventeen, Miles talked non-stop. _When did he grow up?_ Spike thought. The sudden maturity in his friend's eyes unnerved him.

"I got what you were looking for," Miles said with some reluctance.

Spike perked up. "Really?" In contrast to Miles's tone, Spike's words were tinted with disbelief and eagerness.

"Really." Miles reached down into the side pocket of the car, and retrieved a small packet. Spike held it with wonder, and opened the package to reveal an explorer's compass.

"Where did you find it?"

"On eBay," Miles said simply. "You owe me fifty dollars, by the way."

"Thanks, man. With the map and the telescope and the glasses, this finishes the four."

Miles shuddered at his last two words, but recovered quickly enough. "No prob. You really should keep up with the times though. I bet you don't even know what eBay is!"

Spike looked steadily ahead of him, trying to keep his expression neutral.

"Whoa. You mean you don't?"

"I don't know Miles," Spike said, shrugging yet again. "Things just seem to…blur together, you know? I don't know what to keep up with any more."

There was silence.

"Hey," Miles's tone brightened again as he brought forth another topic. "You want to head out to a bar tonight? Perhaps pick up some ladies?"

Spike eyed him. "Wouldn't that look a little odd?"

"What? It'll just look like I'm taking my teenage son for some real-life experience."

Spike shook his head. "Sorry, man. I got a date tonight."

"Ouch. What happened to 'bros before hos'?

"Got old the same time you did," Spike said jokingly.

"Hey! I still got moves!"

"Any of them involve climbing trees, oh great squirrel?"

"That was only once!"

The conversation went on with friendly banter until Miles stopped the car at the address where Spike needed to go. As he stepped into the shadows of the house, he didn't hear Miles say, "Be careful, Sam. I really hope you know what you're doing."

**X x X**

For the longest time, it had been a fruitless search. Bumblebee had spent the better part of the last five years on the planet Earth chasing dead end after dead end.

Captain Archibald Witwicky, the person that they needed to speak to, had disappeared almost a century ago. Since he was an organic being, it was safe for the Autobots to assume that he was dead, and that his glasses which held such precious information had been passed on to his descendants.

However, to his disbelief, Bumblebee had found that Captain Witwicky's line ended at least two decades before the yellow 'bot landed on Earth. Ron and Judy Witwicky had passed away under circumstances that were labelled as 'suspicious,' though no real evidence had been uncovered that there was indeed foul play. Their son, Samuel, had disappeared, and was thought to have met the same fate as his parents.

So Bumblebee had made his way on Earth for the past few years, trying to figure out where the glasses could have gone to. What was left of the Witwicky possessions had been split up, but tracking them down one by one led to more questions than answers. Bumblebee was ready to give up, and to admit that the glasses could have perished in the same fire that consumed the Witwicky line, when something unexpected happened.

A new name popped up in his database in one of his searches. There was a sudden appearance of a "Spike Witwicky" in the same suburb where Ron and Judy Witwicky had once lived. The fact that the appearance roughly coincided with what would have been the fortieth birthday of Samuel James Witwicky seemed insignificant to Bumblebee.

What was important was that perhaps the Witwicky line had not disappeared after all, and perhaps the glasses could still be found.

Unfortunately for both the yellow Autobot and for the Witwicky in question, the same thought would occur to a pair of Decepticons.

* * *

_Hope you enjoyed! For a long time now, there was a tiny voice in my head going: Well, there are all these fics portraying girl!Sam, Autobot!Sam, Cube!Sam…so why couldn't I portray a ...__!Sam. Cyber lollipop goes to the people who can fill in the blank! ;)_

_Oh, and for those of you who are curious, the challenge was "Anything to Survive," on LJ. Not a direct answer to the challenge, but was inspired by the challenge nevertheless._


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: **standard.

* * *

Hunt

**2: Carly and Mikaela Banes**

Spike made his way into the backyard. The garden was unruly. The grass looked like it hadn't been cut in a long while, weeds made up a good one-third of the floral population, and miscellaneous papers and objects, a car engine among them, were scattered in the yard. No wonder the Banes's neighbours insisted on a fence, though the fence looked just as downtrodden as the rest of the yard did. _Mom and Dad would have burst a couple of veins if they saw their yard ever looking like this…_A wave of sorrow hit Spike then, and he forced it away. It was not the time to be thinking of such things. He needed revenge first, and then he could move on. He was going to repay the man who gave him the gift of his un-life with a stake through the heart. The scars on his back were a testament to that promise.

The Banes's dog, Mojo, identifying a pack brother, ran happily to greet him, limping just a little with his cast. Spike almost laughed at the fact that he had missed the little dog in his inspection of the yard, as the grass nearly towered over Mojo. He held it back, however. The dog had enough insecurity problems as it was, being a Chihuahua and all.

Mojo went to Spike's feet, and exposed his belly, identifying himself as the underdog in that afternoon's antics with his pack brother. "Hey Mojo," Spike crooned, reaching down to rub his belly, "how're you doing, you little pill-moocher?" Mojo yipped happily in response, nipped his fingers playfully, and then assumed the universal "doggy-wants-to-play" position, paws out in front of him, tail whipping back and forth in the air.

Spike grinned. Carly wouldn't come home for a couple hours yet, at least. There was time to play.

After peering through the windows of the surrounding houses and insuring that no one was looking, he ducked behind a sorry-looking tree, got out of his clothes, and changed form.

He crouched to accommodate the random spasms going through his body, and tried not to gasp too much at the throbbing in his gums as teeth elongated, giving way to fangs. Mojo stood a little way off, head cocked, curious but not alarmed that his pack-brother was changing form. Spike had decided, long ago, that dogs were good like that. They didn't care what form their pack-brother took. Humans were often a different matter.

The change was soon over. Spike bounded over to Mojo, exhilarated whilst in his wolf form. The sunlight was less taxing to him as a vampiric wolf than as a vampiric human. It was still tiring, still made him feel sluggish, but it was better.

He wrestled with Mojo for a bit, being careful with the smaller dog. After all, he didn't want to get him into another cast. Then, succumbing to the afternoon light, he dragged himself to the shade, and closed his eyes. Mojo tried goading him into another playtime by nipping his tail, but soon gave up and curled between his pack-brother's forepaws.

When Spike awoke, it was already—thankfully—dark. Mojo had run off somewhere, doubtless causing trouble even with a cast on. Spike got up and shook himself, bits of grass flying off his fur. He was contemplating whether or not to change back to human form, when he heard a familiar car pulling up the driveway. His ears went back, and he gave a low growl. As silent as a large wolf could be, he slunk towards the sound.

"Still don't get why you won't let me drive, Trent," came a disappointed and almost pouting voice.

"You see this tires, babe? They're not playthings!"

"Well maybe next time I'll just walk home."

Any further banter was interrupted by Spike, who nimbly trotted over and pressed himself against Mikaela's side, and looked challengingly up at Trent. Trent looked a bit unnerved.

"Woah, Mikaela. I thought you said your dog was _small._" Mikaela looked a bit surprised, but recovered quickly.

"This is _small,_" she said obstinately.

Trent looked like he was about to say something further, but Spike growled at him. Quietly, of course. A wolf's equivalent of: Go home, and stay away from my daughter. Trent gave a hurried excuse to Mikaela, and rushed out.

As soon as he was out of the neighbourhood, Mikaela turned to her "dog." She lowered herself to his level, and scratched behind his ears. "Man, Spike. I already got my mother interrogating all my boyfriends. With you and her together, I'm never going to get married." Spike gave an indignant sniff, then turned and walked back towards the backyard. By the time Mikaela caught up with him, he had already changed back to human form and was in the final stages of dressing.

"I still don't get why you hang out with guys like them, Mikaela," Spike muttered, pulling on his shirt.

"Yeah, sometimes I don't know either," Mikaela answered, plopping down on one clean spot in the yard. She looked around. "Hey, where's Mojo?"

"Don't worry; I didn't eat him or anything."

"Better not. He's already in that cast thanks to you."

"Aw, don't be so mean. He's forgiven me for that already."

"Just don't be so rough when you're playing," she sighed, in a long-suffering voice.

"Yes, Mother," Spike said, and sat down on the ground next to her. Mojo, as if knowing he was being talked about, decided to make his appearance and squished himself in between them. Spike stroked his ears idly.

"Is your mother home yet?" Spike had, long ago, accepted that he could never be part of Carly's life. And not in the social-status sense either. The Camarilla allowed only one past human link, and one new human link, per vampire. If he were to introduce himself to Carly, he'd get them both into major trouble with the ruling vampiric powers. However, that didn't mean that he couldn't watch her from a distance.

"Nah, she's visiting Dad. His parole is coming up soon."

Spike nodded absently. The only thing he had against Daniel Banes was that he landed his daughter with a juvie record. Daniel was his time's equivalent of Trent. Carly was probably his time's equivalent of Mikaela. _Like mother like daughter,_ he thought, then stowed that thought away in the deepest corners of his mind. He knew that Mikaela, though she loved her mother, would not appreciate him comparing her to Carly.

That was another thing odd, too. Lately, Spike had been mixing up Carly and Mikaela. Mixing them up in his conversations with Miles, in his dreams…sometimes even in his memories. It was disconcerting.

"You must be excited. This is the first time he's been home in years."

"Sort of. It's just kind of awkward, you know? After all this time, after all that's happened…" Neither of them said what was obvious. Spike had been there for most of Mikaela's childhood whilst Daniel was doing his dealings. And while Daniel was away, Spike had taken over some of his roles as father, though Carly, of course, knew nothing about that.

Carly was a busy, working mother. So she didn't notice when Mikaela brought home a stray dog. She did notice her boyfriends though, to Mikaela's chagrin.

"When Dad's back again…will you still be around?" Mikaela asked quietly.

"Of course. Why wouldn't I be?"

Mikaela didn't answer, but instead grinned and said, "Hey, I got all the A's I needed."

Spike looked surprised at the change in topic, but went along with it. "Cool. Guess that means that you're going to get a car tomorrow?"

"Yup. Hopefully one that's not too beat-up."

"Won't matter. You'll find something to do with it."

"Just what I need," Mikaela rolled her eyes, "another project."

"Hey, no sacrifice, no victory," Spike told her, grinning. She punched him in the arm mockingly, but then sobered.

"You know…if you ever need it, to go out into the city or forest or something…you're free to take it, you know." She paused. "Or you could always buy your own car. I'm pretty sure that the Camarilla encourages suburban vamps to do so."

Now it was Spike's turn to roll his eyes. "You and Miles are always giving me grief about that. I have you know that I can commute."

"Well, yeah, but for emergencies…you know?" She looked at him, and put her hands on either side of his face, and looked at him. Spike kept back a flinch at the contact, but couldn't keep himself from blushing. "You should feed soon, Spike. I can see it in your eyes," she said quietly.

Spike didn't answer. It kind of felt good, to have Mikaela looking at him like that, to hold him. But then both of them, simultaneously, remembered that he just turned forty years old, and that Mikaela was underage, and both pulled back, embarrassed, at the same time.

Mojo snoozed contentedly between them.

"I should get going," Spike said, rising.

"Yeah, and I guess I should do some homework." Mikaela picked up Mojo and walked with Spike until they were in front of the house.

"Sleep well then," Spike said, initiating their customary send-off.

"Feed well," she answered him.

Spike headed down the road.

**X x X**

Hacking into the foster-child care system in order to find out where the boy lived had been easy. But when Bumblebee stopped in front of the slightly-worn house, no one had been home. To the passing human, everything would have looked acceptable, normal. But to Bumblebee, something was wrong. Not only were there no signs of life in the house, no children, parents, or pets, but his scans were showing that no human had set foot in the house for at least two days.

Bumblebee waited outside the house until well after the human educational day had ended, but still no one came.

Having no other choice, Bumblebee left that post and started to roam around the town, hoping to come across the boy. His files on all the child's supposed ancestors—assuming that he was, indeed, a descendant of Archibald Witwicky—had led to millions, if not billions of sketches of what his descendants could look like. Humans had such variation in their genes. Their genes could recombine to an amazing extent, and then be combined again with another gamete of equal variety… The child could look like anyone, but at least the sketches gave Bee somewhat of a starting point. He was most likely looking for a five-foot eight, lightly-built male with brown eyes and—

Bumblebee stopped short as he registered the figure coming towards him from the sidewalk. The child walking towards him matched the photo in his files of Samuel James Witwicky. A little more tired-looking, hair a little different, but it was Samuel James Witwicky coming towards him from the other side of the street.

Samuel James Witwicky, who had disappeared twenty-three years ago, and would have to have been forty years of age.

Bumblebee shook off his astonishment, and told himself that he was lucky that he didn't have too sensitive of a logic processor. He was sure that if Prowl were in his position, the poor mech would have keeled.

The child ignored him as he passed. Quietly, Bumblebee took a U-turn, and started to follow from a distance.

But the boy seemed aware of his presence, aware that he was being followed. Bumblebee turned a corner to follow him, but by then, he was already gone.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** standard.

**Author has a question:** Already have another Transformer human character starring as a vampire here (feel free to guess who—if you get it right, I'll send you an e-cookie), but have reached the "fork-in-the-road" of storytelling in which I can choose one of two paths. I can either make Sam/Spike and the other character the only (predominant) vampires in this fiction, or I can turn other TF humans into vampires as well.

So here is the question: How much is too much?

* * *

Hunt

**3: Mikaela's Car**

Night had come quickly and quietly, and already Spike could make out some stars…though the sight of stars was a rare treat this close to the city.

City. City meant people. People meant blood. Blood meant…

_Mikaela might have been right,_ he thought somewhat bitterly as he walked across the darkened suburban streets. The tip of his tongue ran over his teeth, the canines already slightly extended. Not enough to tip humans off to him right away, but a Masquerade violation was certain should he get too close to one. If he ever did get that close, he'd have to chow down or risk everything. But he couldn't just hop on the next train. He needed to do something first. He needed to find the old man, thirst be damned.

So immersed was he in driving back his thirst, that he didn't notice it at first when something started following him. An old, familiar feeling in his gut and the hairs that stood at his neck were his first warnings. He didn't need another.

_Don't look back, don't look back. He'll know that you know. Walk casually, but purposefully. He can't know that you don't have a destination. He can't know that you're lost. Lost is wandering; wandering is vulnerable; vulnerable is prey. You can't be prey again. You can't. Just around this corner and—_

Spike leaped over a fence, and started moving along the shadows, avoiding the person's flowers as he did so out of a long-engrained force of habit. He longed to catch a glimpse of whatever it was that was following him, but he couldn't go and just look at the damn thing—he'd be spotted. He could always use his familiars, but even calling on a single bat would fray the already thin rope of control that he was balancing on. He could always chance that there was only one of them and kill two birds with one stone by just feeding on the stalker…by the risks outweighed the benefits.

So ignoring the part of him that demanded that he identify and possibly eliminate the threat, he continued on his trek, finally deciding on his destination for the night. Shedding his human-shape, he turned into the form that was natural to vampires, the armoured Warshape, trusting that vampiric speed, moonlight and consumption of various intoxicants would cover him from any humans who might be looking in his direction.

Even though humans wouldn't know a caffeinated alien even if it danced right in front of them, that didn't mean that he should be careless.

He walked calmly pass the houses with their blinds drawn and the light inside muted, the soft scraping of his armour giving away his location only to wary nocturnal animals, the prey cowering at his approach and the predators steering away from him, respectful of a much more formidable hunter in their midst, even if that hunter wasn't considered much of a hunter in his own ranks.

The wolf inside him howled for a pack. But Spike knew he couldn't belong. Though he loved Miles and Mikaela and Carly as much as a vampire was able to love, he didn't belong to the humans, whose Sam died twenty-three years ago on a snowy winter night of fire, nor did he belong to the vampires, who had murdered him that day.

True, he owed much to the vampire world. The beastly Gangrel Embraced him, the violent Brujah named him, the horrific Nosferatu taught him, the beautiful Toreador laughed with him, the secretive Tremere shared the dark with him, and the manipulative Ventrue fed him and lead him. He owed much to the vampire world.

Except the insane Malkavians. No, he owed nothing to that particular Clan. The only thing he owed that Clan was a stake through the heart of one of their prominent members.

**X x X**

The human was almost impossible to track. Bumblebee scanned the area for any life-forms, but the only heartbeats he picked up were those of intoxicated humans wandering the streets. The only other heartbeat that he picked up was far too shallow to support human life, and the temperature being emitted was much cooler than normal human body temperature. Bumblebee had dismissed it as someone's pet that had gotten loose. Too bad his scanner couldn't tell him the _size_ of the so-called pet, or else he would have picked up on the fact that it was as tall as most humans.

After five human years, Bumblebee had gotten so close to what he was searching for, and it slid right through his large metallic fingers. He could hear the twins laughing at him right now. And if the human had seen him following and was actively _avoiding_ him…it would be near impossible to get close to him. Bumblebee had to curse his conspicuous yellow exterior. It made sneaking difficult sometimes. He'd have it repainted the next time they met up with the squad that had the misfortune of carrying the twins—Sunstreaker was certainly qualified enough—if only he wasn't afraid of what the twins would do to his paintjob.

He made his way slowly back in the direction he saw the child coming from, reviewing information on Samuel James Witwicky. Ignoring the fact that the information was at least twenty three years old and thus far outdated, Bumblebee carefully made out the human's connections.

Carly, a high school crush. Now Carly Banes, with husband Daniel Banes and daughter Mikaela Banes. The Banes family lived right up the street. Bumblebee concluded that that was who Samuel James Witwicky must have been visiting. Parking himself next to the Banes' relatively shabby residence, Bumblebee cast his scanners again, and overheard that the maternal unit would go with her youngling the next day to some "Bobby Bolivia's" lot to buy a car.

Searching the World Wide Web, Bumblebee knew where he had to go.

**X x X**

Parked in the Banes' residence three days after being purchased, Bumblebee was having serious doubts as to whether or not three days of excessive "pimping" at the hands of the juvenile human femme was worth it when the human that he had been searching for walked up the driveway. Though what he was doing there 11 o'clock at night was beyond Bumblebee's understanding. Come to think of it, what the human femme—Mikaela—was still doing tinkering with his exterior and interior at 11 o'clock at night was also beyond him. Humans were just so strange sometimes.

Bumblebee tensed at the boy's approach, all the while thinking to himself, _You are an inanimate object. You are an inanimate object._ "Nice car," the boy told Mikaela appreciatively, stroking Bumblebee's hood with his gloved hands. _Gloved?_ Bumblebee thought. _Odd, even though it's night-time, it's still so warm out…_But then again, nothing about the human seemed normal. Bumblebee internally soothed his logic processors for the hundredth time that day, which were going: _Isn't this human supposed to be an adult of his species? He still looks juvenile!_ Bumblebee would figure that out later. What was important was protecting this child from the Decepticons.

"Thanks," Mikaela responded, grinning as she wiped oil and gas and sweat off her brow. "It took me three days to get it to look like this."

The human boy—Sam—whistled his admiration. "Took you three days to make an '87 look like a '08? Nice work."

"Yep. Go in, try it," she said invitingly. Without further prompting, Sam went into Bumblebee's interior. Bumblebee tried not to squirm at the feeling of his warm body. _Human females must have warmer internal temperatures than males_ he thought, comparing the warmth of Mikaela with Sam's. Nothing on the World Wide Web indicated such but…but perhaps it was just such common knowledge that no human thought of putting it down anywhere. After all, it didn't need to be written down in any encyclopaedia that humans needed to breath.

"Feels good," Sam said at length, running his gloved hand over Bumblebee's Autobot insignia. Both boy and Autobot were surprised as Mikaela presented keys to Sam through the window.

"Wanna take it for a spin?" she asked, grinning impishly.

_Yes! Do it! Then I can properly protect you, contact Optimus and the others and we can—_

"Nah, not today Mikaela. I'll take it for a drive _after_ you've had a turn." Bumblebee shifted slightly on his tires, aggravated and disappointed. He missed the mystified look that briefly clouded Sam's face, as though he noticed that the car had shifted a little under its own power.

"What? You don't trust my workmanship? Come on, it's not gonna die on you halfway through the city," she said in a mock-insulted way.

"No, it's not that!" Sam answered somewhat awkwardly, not picking up on her teasing. "It's just that—well, you've done so much work on it, and I thought that you might want to drive it first and—" She gave a laugh.

"Relax, Spike. I was only kidding." _So Mikaela knows Sam as Spike, _Bumblebee mused. Just who was this boy anyhow? This child who wasn't supposed to be a child, this child who wore gloves in warm weather, this child who wandered places at night, this child who answered to a strange name? Bumblebee had to halt his musings as his logic processors started bothering him again.

Sam got out of the driver's seat, bade goodnight to Mikaela, and started walking down the street.

"Hey, Spike! Catch!" Mikaela tossed some keys in Sam's direction. Sam barely caught them. Bumblebee observed that, even for humans, Sam seemed a tad clumsy.

"What are these for?" Sam asked, confounded.

"If…If you need it, take it!" was Mikaela's only answer. Cryptic, as if she was afraid of someone overhearing. Someone _was_ overhearing, and the cryptic message did its job: Bumblebee could not figure out why the human might need a car so badly that Mikaela would give him an extra set of keys.

The boy nodded in understanding, and Bumblebee could only watch unhappily as his supposed charge continued down the dark road.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: **standard.

**Author note: **Sorry for the long delay! But "Hunt" and "Family Business" are being most disagreeable. (Dialme and Writer glare at Spike). Dammit vampireSam! Work with us here!

* * *

Hunt

**4: Predator and Prey**

Spike sat cross-legged in the middle of the salt circle he had constructed. Frustrated, he brushed the runes that covered the floor, written in chalk and in salt.

The runes were not magical, though at first glance they seemed so. The runes merely acted like an antennae, something to hone in his tracking skills as he scanned for the frequency of the old man, with the help of the items. Everything at least semi-living had a frequency, from vampires to humans to worms to amoeba. This frequency was somewhere on the electromagnetic spectrum, but humans had yet to find a tool to measure it, and were still ignorant of its existence.

Not to say that this frequency had no effects. Far from it. It was this frequency that made prey wary and alert, for they could sense the frequency of a predator nearby. However, humans had so dulled their senses to this frequency by boxing themselves up—boxes within boxes within boxes—that humans wouldn't know that a vampire was a vampire until he was munching at their throats.

The four items that he managed to track down over the years with the help of Miles were lying at the borders of the circle. The compass faced the south; the map faced the east; the telescope faced the west; and the glasses, lying in front of him, faced the north. The old man's frequency still reverberated from them, echoes from a dark past. He picked up the glasses absently, vaguely noticing the little scratch marks that adorned one side.

Three nights of trying to track down the old man ended in failure. He'd never quit; but he was ready to admit that he needed to rest. The darkened attic of the house was already getting lighter with incoming daylight. It wouldn't disintegrate him or anything (it was not a weakness common to his Clan) but it would make him extremely tired. Thank goodness it was a weekend.

Carefully, he got up from his salt circle, and placed the four items—the compass, the map, the telescope, and the glasses—carefully in a little black box, and stored it in the attic. Heading down the stairs, the hunger pang that he had been ignoring for three nights increased so sharply and so strongly that he was almost forced to his knees. He winced as his fangs elongated, his gums feeling as though they had been ruptured by the movement.

_Oh, fuck!_ He had waited too long. Three nights of delay, and his body was wasting no more time in telling him that he was so damn _thirsty._

Feed me now, or the next person you see dies.

He forced the thirst back with a promise that he would feed in less than an hour. He staggered past the kitchen, grabbing Mikaela's spare keys as he did so, and went out the door.

**X x X**

As he sat in the middle of Mikaela's disorderly driveway, Bumblebee contemplated his next course of action. He was unsure about what he should do next. For one thing, the Autobots didn't even know if Sam Witwicky had the glasses. He had to be related to the famous explorer—he definitely was Samuel James Witwicky, all laws of time and physics aside (and Bumblebee here had to at least temporarily disregard almost all the things that Perceptor taught him)—but that didn't mean that the glasses had passed into his hands. They could potentially drag in a human into something that he shouldn't have been involved in the first place.

On the other hand, they could say that about all the humans. It was their war, but being brought to the human world. The only thing that could somewhat rectify the situation was if the Allspark could be found, saved, and brought away from Earth, luring the Decepticons away from this fragile planet.

The Decepticons…were a rather large factor in whether or not the benefits in revealing themselves to Sam Witwicky outweighed the risks. The child was in danger just by bearing the Witwicky name. And if Bumblebee was _this_ frustrated after five years of searching for remaining Witwickies, then he really didn't want to know what the Decepticons would do if they had a Witwicky in their possession. No, it was far better for Sam to be under Autobot protection, regardless of whether or not he had the glasses.

His processor was made up. Bumblebee would contact Optimus, Jazz, Ironhide, and Ratchet, and then together, they would find the next suitable course of action.

He'd have to warn them about the he-tends-to-freeze-logic-processors problem though.

Bumblebee was about to start up his engine when he felt a gloved hand against his metal frame. Bumblebee nearly jumped. _What in Cybertron—_Sam Witwicky had approached him without him sensing anything. Odd.

The child was looking at Mikaela's window, his gloved hands still on Bumblebee's roof, as if he didn't know whether or not to get in. The girl was asleep—Bumblebee had taken it upon himself to regularly scan for the whereabouts and state of being of his temporary charge. Sam was biting his lower lip, trying to make a decision, and—and were his canine teeth unusually long and sharp for humans? Bumblebee didn't remember them being that long the last time that he checked.

Sam sighed then, and took out Mikaela's spare keys. Bumblebee obediently unlocked his door, and the child got in. Again, Bumblebee had to note that his internal temperature was a bit cooler than Mikaela's—in fact, it was cooler than many of the students that passed by Bumblebee as he idly waited for Mikaela to finish school.

Bumblebee played insentient car for the first fifteen minutes, and realized that Sam was driving into the city nearest Tranquility. Bumblebee didn't know what he was planning to do there—at four in the morning, no less—but the Autobot decided to go along with it. Calling the others could wait.

**X x X**

Spike left the Camaro at a relatively decent, public spot—if he got so much as a scratch on it, he was certain that Mikaela would re-kill him—and walked the rest of the way, passing other hunters of the night as he did so.

Most vampires lived in the city, not only because a pale face could get so easily lost in the crowds, but also because their prey was there, teeming in numbers.

Most of them were Brujah, street-thugs who fit right in with their environment. The Ventrue Clan were well known for their weak stomachs, and were rarely seen in the city. They opted for high-end suburbia people, or better yet, high-end mansion type of people. In the United States, most of them hung out in estates, country clubs, and Hollywood.

Luckily, Spike was a Gangrel, meaning that, while the blood of rats would not sate him as it sated the grotesque Nosferatu, he could drink the blood of a diseased prostitute and still find it palatable. Not that he was particularly eager to relive that episode.

Disease and drugs and desperate, vain attempts at happiness seemed to plague humans left, right, and centre, poor things. The only thing more self-destructive than humanity was their vampire spawn, their hunters, the darkness in their shadows.

At least that's what Gabriel told him. But then again, Gabriel was a Toreador, considered pansies by the rest of the vampire society, and had a much better hold on his humanity. Spike's other mentor, Severance, was a Brujah, and would have said that humans were cattle, and were to be bred, culled, and eaten.

Still, for all their opinions on humanity, Gabriel with his pitying scorn and Severance with his outright disdain, they embroiled themselves in the human world. Last Spike heard of them, they were working for some secret government agency, something to do with (and the rest of the vampires laughed heartily at this) _aliens._

And the Camarilla wondered why he was so messed up, with those two practically raising him.

He talked a random girl—a runaway, younger than Mikaela, giving her body for survival in the streets, poor thing—into going into an alley with him, in a deserted section of a desolate street. She was already intoxicated, and was highly amused by his stuttering.

Weren't they all? Eloquence of speech and elegance in posture were _not _among the vampiric gifts passed on to him. Luckily, she was too drunk, and persuasion was a common vampiric trait, so he got her there without trouble.

He had already fed and laid her on the ground—breathing shallowly, but still breathing—before he noticed that he had an audience.

A police car had stopped right outside the mouth of the alleyway. The moustached police officer was looking at him blankly. He was probably still trying to figure out what he was seeing. Damn. He'd have to take care of that. A quick bite, and the officer wouldn't remember the occurrences of the last five minutes.

Spike went over to the car and yanked the door open.

What the—? He peered in, brow furrowed, absently licking the last traces of blood at the corner of his mouth. The only 'passenger' was a boom box, which was weird in and of itself. But he could have _sworn _that—

A screeching noise filled the roads, the sound of rubber and asphalt and far too much friction. Spike's head snapped to the right, looking at the source of the noise. His eyes widened.

The freakin' Camaro! Without a freakin' driver! _Heading straight for him!_

Strangely, Spike's first clear thought was: _Man, Mikaela's gonna be __**pissed; **__she really worked hard on that car._

He started to back away from the police car, noting an escape route right behind him, in the direction _opposite _of the possessed car, when, without warning, the police car's door swung shut, pushing him inside.

**X x X**

Bumblebee kept Sam on his scanners until he had disappeared in an alleyway with a young girl. Then the yellow scout shut his scanners off.

Bumblebee had been through the human Internet. He had a sneaking suspicion as to what Sam would be doing with that girl, and he had no wish to look. Human methods of reproduction were odd at best, and demanded a level of physical intimacy that Cybertronians did not know. There was a huge stigma, though, against doing it in alleyways and in exchange for money. Bumblebee, not being of the planet, did find it, at the very least, disconcerting that humans would do such a thing amongst strangers. If you did not know them through spark, how could you expect to know them through body?

Though Bumblebee was not one to judge, he kept his audios off all the same, and scanned the surrounding area idly. Humans were such strange creatures.

Disease and drugs and desperate, vain attempts at happiness seemed to plague humans left, right, and centre, poor things.

His musings were cut short when his scanners picked up Barricade's presence, _right in Sam's vicinity. _

Bumblebee, cursing both his inattentiveness and Barricade's shielding abilities, started his engine, without bothering to turn on his hologram, and sped down the alleyway.

By the time he had reached the area, Barricade already had the boy in his interior. He could see two dark shapes moving in Barricade—probably Frenzy deciding to have some 'fun' with their captive—and Bumblebee hit the gas, tearing after Barricade as the mech entered the freeway. He'd deal with the ensuing human confusion later. Right now, he had to ensure his charge's survival.

It was a short-lived chase. Out in the deserted freeway, for no apparent reason, Barricade suddenly swerved, his sides tearing against the guard rails, leaving streaks of paint. Then the mech made a sharp turn into a construction site, attempting to lose Bumblebee before stopping. But why was he stopping?

His efforts were in vain. Bumblebee made the turn, transforming as he did so.

Something dark hurtled out of Barricade before the mech even stopped, and entered the darkened, half-finished building. Bumblebee caught a glimpse of rust-red metal before his attentions were turned elsewhere. Swiftly, Barricade transformed, ejecting Frenzy. Frenzy followed whatever came out of Barricade, and Barricade was about to do likewise, before Bumblebee smashed into him.

_Leave the boy alone! _Bumblebee transmitted, sending his fist into Barricade's faceplate. Bumblebee scanned wildly for his charge. Sam was still in the area, being pursued by Frenzy. He must have escaped without Bumblebee noticing…that was the only logical explanation. The other dark shape that had ejected from Barricade—what was it? A Decepticon minion that the Autobots were ignorant of? Bumblebee didn't know, and he didn't have time to find out.

"Little fragger, Lord Megatron did you good, didn't he?" Barricade sneered. The mech was definitely the worse for wear. He had somehow sustained damaged to his wires, and who knows what else to his interior. It looked like some savage animal had mauled him.

Some lucky 'bot had landed some good hits while Barricade was in his alt-form.

Bumblebee didn't reply, and instead focused on bringing his opponent offline. The sooner he did that, the sooner he'd be able to get to Sam before Frenzy did.


End file.
